by Francine Witte
is just for the moment. Everything
has to go back. Even the sky,
all grabby with rain, at some point,
will have to let go. Continue reading
Ownership
The Tree of Life
by William Swarts
In memoriam October 27, 2018*
Shabbat shalom.
11 limbs lopped from the Tree of Life.
—an AK-47 ax.
Shabbat shalom.
Filed under Poetry
This Is Just How I Sound
by Patricia Callan
like I was born
in boiling oil,
my mother
a window–
painted shut,
my whisper
a yawn set
to music; you
hear me lazy.
Your hinged
jaw rusts open.
Filed under Poetry
Winnie
by Karl Luntta
He sat on a fallen palm tree on the beach, dazed, the pain in his ankle peaking, maybe turning the corner. He’d already begun to think of it as a foreign thing, not part of his body, no danger to him, nothing to worry about. At least he’d begun to will it so. Out here in the middle of nowhere, no doctor, nurse, no clinic on the island, things could go south quickly, and with little flourish.
Filed under Fiction
Australia
by Steven Beauchamp
Arcing out of the black Pacific sky
like a falling star banking due south
over Brisbane just as the sun rose
on the other side of the world,
we saw the primeval canvas of Australia
spread out toward Sydney in a swirling vision
of rolling eucalyptus mountains,
black snakes of water slithering
into valleys of fire. Then the deep blue
and gray rocks of the harbor lapping
fields with row upon row of runways
planted with planes.
Hawaii Pacific Review 